Trusting the Enemy
by 3xy
Summary: Sometime during Season 6. Trust is never easy to give.


**Title: Trusting the Enemy**

**Chapter 1/1**

**Beta: EveryLastDrop over at the Bloodshedverse**

It seemed like the thousandth time they'd had sex -- shared that supposedly intimate act of giving oneself to another -- and yet she still felt nothing for him. At least that was what she'd insist. She had told herself again and again that it meant nothing, that he was nothing but a way to make her forget everything, to make herself feel again. And it truly was that way. Admittedly, she was using him; and every time she'd leave him before she'd see the glint of hope and love in his piercing blue eyes, she'd feel guilty.

She'd gazed into his eyes once, that time they had to stop Glory from killing Dawn to open a portal and break all hell loose into the world – as if the world wasn't hell all by itself. She'd gazed into them as he said words she'd thought she'd never hear from someone she had deemed a monster. And she'd drowned in them, in all the emotions she had seen in them. His words had cut her up, almost making her open up to him in ways she had never done. It was too much for someone like her, whose heart had been hardened and blackened by violence and death...

She could never love him. She could never really love anyone.

And just like what he'd said a million times over, she deserved to be in the dark. With him. And she believed him despite all the times she denied it. She'd always been in the dark. She deserved to be in it. She just wasn't sure if she deserved to be with him.

Tonight wasn't any different. She'd run off again, right after he had made her feel so loved – so much love unlike she'd felt before. It wasn't that she was disgusted with him, or with herself for that matter, anymore; that feeling had long gone and had been replaced with the fear of feeling anything other than lust for him.

She trudged down the street, thoughts of Spike and how _wrong_ she was weighing her down. No matter how many tirades she'd play in her mind or how much the knowledge that what she was doing was wrong eroded at her, she just couldn't stop.

She'd become addicted to him, to the things he'd made her feel.

"Finally pried yourself out of your dead lover's arms, I see," a deep, disembodied voice called her out of her thoughts.

Buffy stopped in her tracks and spun on her heel, reaching into her coat pocket for a stake. She raised her arm, a stake in hand and ready for some slaying.

Slaying? She had always been good at that. And no matter how many times her calling had put her life on the line, she'd still feel safe, protected, invulnerable. In life and love, however, she felt the exact opposite; she built walls around herself and prayed to God no one could break through them.

"Who's there?" she asked, searching for where the voice had come from with her trained eyes.

The man stepped out of the shadows, baring himself to her, and chuckled. "No need for a stake. I'm a friend and I'm here to help you." He was a tall, bold man who was wearing a tailored suit. He had pointed eyebrows and dark, dreary, hollow eyes which seemed to enthrall her. His face was almost angelic, with his high cheekbones and long nose, if not for the thin, pale line of his mouth that formed a perverted smirk_._

Putting her hand down, Buffy turned from the stranger and continued to walk on home. She'd had enough of games for one night and wasn't interested with what the stranger had to offer. "I've got enough friends, thank you," she tossed over her shoulder.

"Friends who've torn you out of heaven?" he called after her retreating back.

His words stopped her and she turned to him again. She narrowed her eyes at him and arched a brow questioningly, urging him to continue.

The man stepped forward, a pleased smile across his square face. "I've come to warn you about your boyfriend, Spike."

Buffy rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. "He's **not** my boyfriend," she asserted. She eyed the man suspiciously for a second, raking her eyes up and down, studying him. Her bottom lip jutted out while she debated whether to go along with him. Finally deciding that talking to him wouldn't hurt, she prodded. "What about him?"

A few blinding light-filled seconds later, Buffy found herself at the balcony of the Bronze. Still right beside her was the man. She'd now come to regret stopping and talking to him because _clearly_ he wasn't human and could have been evil. "What? Is there a surprise party for me?" she quipped, a sneer across her features, as she scanned the dance floor.

The man pointed at one particular bleach blond man. It was Spike, sans his trademark black coat. He was wearing a different one which made him actually blend in. He was talking to some girl, flirting, dancing, touching her in all the _wrong_ places. The thought that he was on the hunt came to her mind. She dismissed it, telling herself that he was chipped instead of having faith that he actually wouldn't do it – for her. It also had only been a few minutes since she'd left him in his crypt and it made her wonder how fast he got there.

Buffy glanced at the man beside her at the corner of her eyes, desperately distracting herself from the sight that bothered her immensely for reasons she ignored. "And I'm supposed to care that he's dancing and flirting with some ho because?"

The man only chuckled and pointed at the dance floor again, forcing her to look at the thing she'd averted her eyes from in the first place. She saw Spike pull the girl through the crowd and out of the Bronze.

Before she could even react, she found herself in a dark alley, only a few feet from Spike, who was fucking the girl into oblivion. She winced as her heart wrenched. Her anger and jealousy rendered Buffy unable to tear her eyes away, and she watched him lavish the girl with kisses and push his manhood deep within her while his hands traveled to places they shouldn't.

Gulping down the sob that had formed in her throat, she wrung out the words "Why are you showing me this?"

"Just wait," the man replied.

Buffy complied. She'd had enough. And if this – hurting – was what it took to get Spike out of her system, then she was willing to do it.

With her tear-brimmed eyes still firmly planted on Spike's blissful face, she saw his features slowly change into the demon she'd forgotten he was. Her eyes widened and she abruptly started off to save the poor girl – or save Spike from himself.

A vice-like grip on her wrist stopped her. She stared at it and glanced up at the man. "Let me go," she gritted.

"There's no use stopping him. He won't see or hear you," the man calmly explained.

She yanked her hand away from him and turned worriedly back to Spike. "What? Why the hell not?"

"This is the future, Buffy, and I'm merely showing it to you. This is _his_ future," he said. Buffy watched in horror as Spike delved his fangs into the girl's neck. "Not much different from his past, is it?" A flood of emotions ran through her as the girl screamed and squirmed in Spike's hold. Buffy could do nothing but stand there and watch him drain the life from the once vibrant young woman. She felt helpless. She fisted her hands at her side, digging her nails into her palms, to contain every emotion that wanted to bellow out of her.

She slowly faced the man, with her tensed jaw and flashing eyes. "Why should I trust you? Why should I believe this will happen?"

She was angry. God, she was so fucking angry.

The man chuckled again. Her waning voice told him that his plan had worked – just like he knew it would. "I don't have to convince you. You've already convinced yourself. _Every day_. Because you've never forgotten what he really is: a killer. 'An evil, disgusting thing' was how you put it, wasn't it?"

Stung by the hatred in her own words and the truth in his, Buffy recoiled.

"Deep down, you know evil will always be evil," the stranger said. His evil smirk was all Buffy saw as she was teleported back to the street she had been strolling down.

She blinked confusedly and looked around to find the stranger, to ask what it all meant, but he was nowhere. He had vanished.

* * *

Trust was never easy to give. But somehow she'd managed to give it to a stranger. It had all felt so real, too real, that it had seemed like she had no other choice but to believe it. The hardest part was believing it and knowing exactly what she needed to do.

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She knew what to do and she needed to do it. Because she was the Slayer; with the weight of the world on her shoulders whether she wanted it or not.

She pushed the door open to the place she'd found to be the safest place to hide from her so-called friends and from the person they'd always wanted her to be: the Slayer.

Here, she was herself. She was Buffy. Because Spike loved her for it.

And just like all the other times, he was there, idly waiting for her. Every second of his reward was well worth the agony. But he couldn't hide his fear that one day she'd stop coming to him. So every time she'd burst in with lust-dazed eyes and stripped down inhibitions, wanting nothing but his flesh when he would have given her his life if he had one, he'd hide the pure elation he'd feel.

He pushed himself off the sarcophagus and feigned a smug smirk. That was the Spike she wanted – the cruel, heartless, egotistical vampire. But that _thing_ had long gone. The moment he knew he was in love with her, he'd tried to change. And he had. Ironically, he'd found that she didn't want him that way. So there he was, pretending not to care, not to get hurt, not to love her so damn much when he fucking did. When his blood lust paled in comparison to the lust he had for her love.

"Come here for some--"

Buffy shut him up, making him abandon his pretense by her desperate, hungry kiss. And not a moment did she break away to let him bear the torture of hiding his love from her.

She slithered her warm hands under his shirt, a little less roughly than all the other times she'd done the exact same gesture. Her delicate fingers grazed over his cool skin, scorching every exposed part of him she could touch until he couldn't help but hiss.

He was usually more vocal. Told her how he'd fuck her brains out, he did. Every time. But not tonight. Tonight was different.

He felt her tug at the hem of his shirt and slowly lift it off, her fingers trailing up his torso. He screwed his eyes closed and let her burn him with her touch.

Buffy tossed the shirt to the floor and glanced back up. Her heart sank when she saw his face. How he'd looked when he was fucking and draining the girl in the alley didn't compare to the expression he wore at this moment. His lips were slightly agape while he panted, his Adam's apple was moving up and down as he swallowed hard, his eyes were tightly shut; his face evidence of how much he loved and feared her. Buffy tenderly brushed her hand against his cheek.

Spike slowly opened his eyes and was surprised by the intensity of Buffy's stare. She wasn't smirking or biting her lip flirtatiously, like before. She was just staring back at him, vulnerable, and he just about cried.

She slowly but expertly undid the buttons of his jeans, not breaking the connection their eyes had made. Not a moment later, she was stroking his hardened cock with her dainty hands. She saw his eyes grow wide; like he was a young man about to make love for the first time. She realized again how much power she had over him – power she didn't deserve, especially because of what she was about to do. She hooked her fingers under her blouse and it soon joined Spike's shirt on the floor.

Spike tenderly ran his hands up her arms, enjoying the feel of her shuddering underneath his callused hands. He watched his hand and the way it moved along her smooth, soft skin, his eyes resting on her lips. Her bottom lip was protruded. It was calling him, tempting him to taste her again. And he did. He drew his face closer to her until his nose and his lips almost touched hers. He opened his mouth slightly and his tongue peeked out. He grazed it over her lip, tasting her just enough to leave him wanting for more. Buffy moaned and parted her lips to let him in, but Spike pulled away.

The thing she wanted most in what she and Spike had was how she would always feel powerful, in control – unlike the way her life had been for the most part. But now, neither of them were in control. Neither one dominated. The only thing that mattered was how they felt about each other.

She realized she was in love with him.

He brushed the stray lock of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. "I love you, Buffy."

She said nothing. A part of her wanted to tell him she loved him too. A part of her, the Slayer, the one people wanted to see, remained still and silent.

"You know that, don't you?" He searched her eyes and waited for her to say that she did – because that was enough. It didn't matter whether she felt the same or not.

Buffy blinked back the tears and nodded. "I do."

Spike smiled crookedly. He cupped her cheek and brushed his finger over her trembling lip and wondered why she seemed sad. He slowly brought each of his hands down to her breasts, raking them lightly over her nipples.

Buffy bit her lip and her head lolled back as she arched into his touch. He was being gentle, which was new to her. She had no idea how amazing it felt to let him love her. His fingers were long and slender and the way they caught her nipples, the way they twisted and plucked them, made her toes curl.

Soon, she felt his cool, wet mouth bathing one of her breasts. His tongue swirled, slipped over and around her hardened nub and he sucked, taking into his mouth as much of her as he could. She gasped when his teeth scratched over it, and gripped tightly onto his arms.

As soon as their pants were discarded, Buffy lay back on the cold sarcophagus. She held up her hands to him and called him to relieve her of the cold.

He obeyed. It was all he'd ever done. He hovered over her, still taking in how beautiful she was. He moved his hand between them to feel her lust for him.

He lightly grazed his finger up and down her wet sex and Buffy moaned. She squirmed and arched her back as the feel of his finger gliding slickly over her made her even more wet; the guilt she had been feeling was forgotten.

As he crawled inside of her, caressed her with his desire, she let him in. She let him see her. He'd been the only one who could anyway. And as he moved and panted, her heart began to break.

She let out small sighs and needy whimpers. She watched him please her, still with the unsure look in his eyes, doubtful if he would ever succeed.

At that moment, as she groaned and dug her nails into his skin with her release, he felt that he had. She screamed his name and he came; it was like the first time he'd heard it.

He rolled off her and lay beside her, both of them still breathing heavily. He faced her and intently studied her; the way her breasts heaved as she breathed, the way her soft tongue slid over her swollen lips, the way her eyelashes fluttered, the way her hands swept across her forehead to wipe the salty beads of sweat.

There was something different in the way she'd held him, kissed him... It was almost like they had made love and not just fucked.

And it hurt more; her making him feel that way. Making him feel like he had her love. It only made him realize even more what he was missing – what he could never have. Wanting to disrupt the intimacy, he said, "Isn't this usually when your grand exit takes place?"

She looked at him with her sad eyes and crooked smile. "I just want to rest here for a while, if that's okay with you."

He gazed at her, unable to believe what was happening. He'd imagined it so many times, her wanting to stay after he'd pleasured her. He never actually thought that it would come true. "Sure."

He gazed back up at the ceiling. He didn't want to see her. It was all too much. She was giving him more than a smidgen and it was wrong. So bloody wrong.

"Spike?" Her soft, quaking voice called him out of his thoughts.

Never wanting to deny her, he turned to her and asked. "Yeah, love?"

"Will you... Will you just hold me?" was the hesitant reply.

Spike looked at her with curiosity and incredulity. But without any qualms or questions – just like always when it came to doing something for Buffy – he shifted closer to her, slipping his arm under her neck. She placed her head on his shoulder, wrapping one arm around him, and he tensed. He wasn't used to the way she was holding him then. It wasn't driven by lust or by hatred. It was soft and endearing; it wrung out emotions he didn't want her to see. Not now. Not when she was still piecing her world back together.

He closed his eyes as he breathed and stopped himself from embracing her so tightly. It was hard; he knew this moment was going to end and he didn't want it to. He never wanted to let her go.

Buffy closed her eyes too, tears streaming down her cheeks, and waited for him to fall asleep.

* * *

She didn't know if it was good that Spike had been too deep in sleep to notice the shaking stake against his chest, right above the heart she knew would have beat for her if it could. She could change her mind. She could finally trust herself and let go. She could finally admit how she felt for him. And he could never find out about how she'd planned to dust him.

But little did she know that Spike had been awake the moment she moved to straddle him. He'd thought at first that she'd wanted another go until he'd felt her tremble and until he'd felt the stake digging into his bare skin.

The way she'd had sex with him then made sense. It was likely that she did it out of pity or guilt for what she was about to do. Either way, he was bloody stupid to think she'd meant even a second of it.

He had waited for her to do it – off him. He had wanted her to.

When he felt her hesitate, he hushed, still with his eyes closed, "Go on, then. Do it." Buffy gasped and hurriedly brought the stake up from his chest. Spike blinked his hurt-filled eyes open and lifted them up to Buffy's tear-stained face. "Go on, then," he repeated.

Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were chapped. She was miserable. He had no idea why.

"I... I can't," she sobbed.

"**Why the bloody hell not**?" He clenched his teeth to keep them from shaking. He sat up, grabbed her wrist and brought her hand to his chest, holding the stake to it once more. "Do it!" he challenged her.

She tugged her hand away from his tight grip and moved off him. She couldn't bear him being so close; his cold skin burning hers. Wiping her tears with her wrist, she wailed, "I can't, okay? I just can't!" She could have told him why but she was still afraid.

He jumped off the bed and stood in front of her, forcing her to look at him and see how much she had hurt him. "Is that what you came here to do? Is that why you had to make me feel like you didn't despise me or didn't regret **every second** you've spent with me?"

His eyes were boring into her and she almost couldn't speak. The three words choked her but all she could say was "It's not like--"

He grabbed her by her upper arms and shouted, "Don't fucking lie to me, Buffy!" He wasn't angry. He was beyond angry. He was broken and nothing she could say could fix him.

Buffy bit her lip to stop it from quivering. His eyes were dark, just like the many times she'd seen them filled with lust. But this time, it wasn't lust darkening them, but anguish. Anguish she'd caused.

Spike pushed her and she fell to the floor. She'd become weak and defenseless. "Get the hell out."

She opened her mouth to speak but she knew better. He'd never believe her if she told him how she really felt now. As she fled from the crypt, she berated herself for not trusting herself. For not trusting her heart, which loved the vampire more than she could ever admit.

_It had never been easy to trust the enemy._


End file.
